


The Accords

by SpiderBeans, TellMeNoAgain



Series: So Much Trouble [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deaf Clint Barton, Fix-It, M/M, Not Beta Read, Power Imbalance, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, The Crush Has Arrived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderBeans/pseuds/SpiderBeans, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Read at your own risk, THERE'S BALLROOM DANCE LESSONS, be warned.Also, if you know where to look, you can see Mr. Stark struggling.  He's a very bad man.  A very, very bad man.~~~“Look, kid,” says Mr. Stark, leaning back, pressing his whole side against the opposite door of the car and watching Peter’s fingers twiddle with the tie end until he stops, self-conscious under that dark gaze, “When you walk up those steps, you’re going to just be this unknown kid who’s a mild curiosity more because why are you here with us than who are you, and when you walk back down those steps, you are going to be a brand, okay?  That’s a lot.  And I just wanted to let you know, like, officially, you can come talk to me about that.  I’ve been a brand my whole life, Stark Industries, and I was the original awkward teenage Miley Cyrus rebellion phase, I did that first, and I think we can do better by you, okay?”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: So Much Trouble [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562707
Comments: 19
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read because I posted before I started making friends.
> 
> I don't think this one has any triggers, but let me know and I can add more tags and warnings.
> 
> NOT ENDGAME COMPLIANT. (Let's be real here, this AU is barely MCU compliant.)
> 
> For completionists, DEAD DOVE warning, this series is going to be D/s Starker.
> 
> For prudes, these are fictional characters and I've double checked, no one actually has a skeevy real-life relationship as a result of this series, so, like, relax. No one is going to get hurt.

Peter is in the lobby, almost late which means just in time, and in the suit Aunt May brought to his room. A SHIELD agent quickly and efficiently ushers him to the underground parking garage, and Captain America-Steve- waves him over with a smile. Vision is helping Wanda into a car beside him, and around the garage doors are opening and closing, so maybe he is late, after all.   
  
“Hey, Peter,” says Captain America, “you feeling ready for this?”

Peter shrugs. Whether he’s ready or not, this is happening.   
  
“Well, just remember what I said,” says the Captain, his eyes kind when Peter looks up at them. “It’s all a dog and pony show, we’re lucky to have you on the team.”

“I need my intern, no thank you very much, Cap,” interrupts Mr. Stark, and grabs Peter by the elbow, pulling him over to one of the black cars parked all over the garage at random. He shoves Peter inside and then climbs in after him, motioning Peter to scoot over. The door closes and Peter sees Happy look up into the rear-view mirror before giving a thumbs up and flipping the glass to opaque, and pulling the car into line with the other exactly identical black cars. Peter glares out the window and watches Cap- Steve- get in the one in front of him and tries to ignore how relieved he is to be here, in this car. He’s getting really good at ignoring a lot, lately, he thinks.   
  
“So, sport,” says Tony, obviously relishing this moment, “Have you thrown up today yet?”   
  
“Mr. Stark,” protest Peter, straightening his tie again and flicking a glance at him, straightening his spine out of its slouch to try to look more, well, grown-up. This is a big day, after all, he’s not some kid messing around anymore, that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? The suit fits perfectly, it’s probably a Mr. Stark thing, or a Ms. Potts thing, he guesses, so it’s probably hand-woven by Russian princesses if there’s any of those still around. It fits perfectly and Peter feels awful about that. He’s never owned anything that fit right, even before the super spider spit, and this is just one thing to many, today. He thinks about Clint, threatening to rip the arms off of any suit they put on him until Fury tells him to just wear the uniform then, what the fuck did it even matter? But it was nice of Mr. Stark- Ms. Potts- anyway, so he tries not to hate it, tugging at the tip of the tie.   
  
“Look, kid,” says Mr. Stark, leaning back, pressing his whole side against the opposite door of the car and watching Peter’s fingers twiddle with the tie end until he stops, self-conscious under that dark gaze, “When you walk up those steps, you’re going to just be this unknown kid who’s a mild curiosity more because why are you here with us than who are you, and when you walk back down those steps, you are going to be a brand, okay? That’s a lot. And I just wanted to let you know, like, officially, you can come talk to me about that. I’ve been a brand my whole life, Stark Industries, and I was the original awkward teenage Miley Cyrus rebellion phase, I did that first, and I think we can do better by you, okay?” Peter has no idea what those words mean, none of them, but he nods anyway, because the sound of Mr. Stark’s voice is weirdly comforting and he just wants it to keep going.   


“So, champ, good talk, but I just wanted to let you know, I am so proud of you,” and the way he says it makes Peter turn and look at him. There’s something in Mr. Stark’s eyes, something quiet and still, and Peter lets himself look and look because it is fascinating.    
  
“Oh-okay, Mr. Stark, sir,” Peter finally stammers.   
  
“Yeah, don’t make a whole, a whole deal about it-” says Mr. Stark, waving his hand. “I just, I just want you to go in there knowing I’m- we’re, really, we’re all right here and we see you, Peter Parker, not just, not just the superhero, okay?”   
  
Peter was having trouble keeping a lid on the tension inside him, his spidersenses starting to jangle, but caught here, in the tinted-windows darkness of this impossibly quiet armored car, staring at Mr. Stark staring back at him, he can feel it fading back, dialing down a notch.   
  
“Yeah,” says Mr. Stark. “You’re not a solo artist anymore. You have a team. And I- we- are going to be right there, just like we practiced, for the reporters, for everything.”   
  
Peter nods his head.   
  
“Okay, we’re here,” says Mr. Stark, as the cars descend into another underground parking garage, and Peter remembers Clint bitching because they could have just  _ walked down the block, Fury, goddamnit, we’re like the only people on Earth who can walk down any block we want to _ , but Peter is suddenly grateful for the cars. He reviews the last few minutes with Mr. Stark and thinks suddenly that it was odd Mr. Stark hadn’t said anything during that entire conversation. Maybe he was hoping for this moment, too. “Remember, we’ve got you.”   
  
Peter nods again and says, quietly, a reminder to this man of who he is talking to, “To infinity and beyond, sir.”   
  
Tony laughs, and opens the door, and says, “Yeah, well, let’s table that until later this week, you have got to sit through about six hours of boring meetings and sign your soul to the United Nations, followed by being eaten alive by a starving press corps, pitter patter, let’s go, champ.”   
  
Peter takes one of his last breaths as Peter Parker, high school student, and blows it out, and follows Mr. Stark out of the car.


	2. Chapter 2

May is waiting, because he’s still months away from 18 and the compromise was that he needs his legal guardian to sign to give him the right to sign for himself, and she looks nice and tidy in a simple outfit that still holds up to all the glitter and dazzle around them and he thinks Ms. Potts, because who else, but Natasha walks over to her and the Black Widow squeezes his aunt’s hand and murmurs something. May looks briefly more nervous, and then less, and squeezes back and smiles, nodding her head. Natasha turns to nod at Peter and motion him over.   
  
“These days are the worst,” she informs Peter. “It’s a lot of political grandstanding, did Tony warn you? I wasn’t at the debriefing, we were,” she says as an aside to May, waving a finger between them, indicating their outfits. “I’ve sat through three amendment processes and a re-write and even though all of that has happened in committee meetings, and everyone has already decided everything, today, with the signing, they feel the need to go over everything all over again. It’s the worst.”   
  
“Yes, democracy is not my first choice,” interjects Commander Fury with a scowl. “But it is the latest trend.”   
  
Natasha makes a moue of wry acknowledgement and announces, “Oh, Lord, did you forget to have Phil stick by Clint? He’s even worse than Tony at things that involve paperwork, it’s like a cat and a toddler, May, I swear.”   
  
May rises to the occasion and asks, “Oh, is that your partner? Hawkeye? You said he was trouble.”   
  
Fury laughs quietly as Natasha confirms this and makes her apologies, threading through the crowd to begin talking at the ceiling near one of the architectural columns. There’s so many voices it takes Peter a second to sort through the noise to find hers but it turns out he doesn’t need to, because he catches her signing, “-so get down before you cause an international incident, you jerk, Parker does not need you throwing a tantrum on top of everything else today, you are the worst” and Peter flushes when she glances at him and he realizes she knows perfectly well he’s eavesdropping from across the huge hall.

~~~

Captain America- Steve- signs the newly revised Accords first, followed by James Barnes and then the Falcon and Clint, and Scott Lang, and then it’s Peter’s turn and he picks up the pen and it feels warm to the touch, held by so many capable, steady hands in the last half-hour. He looks up, a quick peek, and there is Mr. Stark, his arm around May, murmuring something in her ear, and Natasha is braced on May’s other side with Clint just behind her. His hands are pretty steady, too, as he initials and signs and signs and initials in all the spots, adding his mark next to all of the other names on the page, and there are so many, sometimes he has to squeeze his in the corner. He plays a little game of trying to see how close he can get his name to Anthony Stark, AS, because he’s the only intern on the team, and it seems right, but he settles for Steve Rogers, SR, in a pinch.

And then he’s done. He puts the pen carefully down on the table and looks up to see Mr. Stark gesturing for him to put it in his pocket, so he slips it back in his hand and glances around, looking for the cap. The lawyers and politicians are celebrating with more speeches and patting each other on the back or angrily stuffing their paperwork in files, and Steve holds out the cap, the fanciest pen cap Peter has ever seen, it’s engraved, with the Avenger’s logo, and says, “Well, son, that’s done.” His voice has a finality, an exhaustion, and doesn’t add to any feeling of victory Peter might be harboring.    
  
“Captai- Steve,” Peter corrects himself, “it’s going to be okay, right?”   
  
Steve Rogers turns to look at him and says, “We will make it okay. That’s what we do. We make things okay.”   
  
Peter nods, more than a little relieved when he notices the Captain looks more relieved after saying that, too, and then he’s being swept up into a hug by Aunt May and nondescript people in black suits- the real interns- are trying to direct “The Avengers, please, just this way, the press corp is waiting.” For just a minute he lets himself relax into Aunt May’s embrace and then Fury says, “Parker, I’ve got a team with May for look out, you gotta get your butt to that seat, go,” so he goes. With his team. He’s Peter Parker, Avenger, and he goes with his team.


	3. Chapter 3

The press release is in an auditorium and Peter is handed an ear bud for translation. The murmur of the press is a cacophony, languages boiling up in his senses. The lights blink twice, and then there’s silence. “One of our conditions,” Hawkeye says, leaning around Cap, on Peter’s left, “because of your spider spit stuff. It’s my favorite part, they have to shut up and go one at a time, I am never doing another one of these without you.”

“Can it,” mutters Cap, slotting Hawkeye a glance. “Mics are going live.”

 ****They’re sitting on the stage, all in a row, behind a table with bunting, and he’d been jostled by the team until he seated himself between Cap and Mr. Stark. He’d be more nervous, but they’ve been over this multiple times, preparing. It’s, it’s a lot of heartbeats out there, but he can’t see anything but the glare of the lights.

 ****The moderator begins to speak, and moments later, a SHIELD agent is translating the boring opening remarks in Peter’s ear. Then they’re being introduced, the screen behind them showing footage of them saving people, highlights that have been carefully edited to not show extensive property damage. The original signers are first, they’re old news, this isn’t their debut, and then the rest of them go. Peter is last, and there is definitely a rustle in the crowd when it’s revealed that he’s Spider-Man.

 ****First up is the Daily Bugle, but the reporter, clearly prepped to take down a grown man behind the Spider-Man mask, is hesitating over his prepared question, “Spider-Man, do you truly believe that signing the Accords today will wipe your record of-of lawbreaking and terrorism aside?”

 ****“I paid those library fines!” protests Peter, raising his hands. The auditorium erupts into laughter, and he continues, “look, I’ll talk- well, Mr. Stark’s lawyers will talk- to any police officials who want to question me, but I was just trying to help. I’m just a kid from Queens who wanted to help, who was given this gift and maybe didn’t always know the best thing to do, but I’ve been trying, and if America lets me, I’m going to keep trying.” Behind him, the screen is showing his participation in the Battle of Wakanda, snatching the stones from the fractured gauntlet and then abruptly being battered by the entire arsenal of the intergalactic army.

 ****It’s exactly how they rehearsed, exactly how they planned it, if not this question, one like it, and exactly why The Daily Bugle got first shot at the microphone. There’s some hope with meaty stories like Peter and Steve, it’ll take the heat off “SHIELD agents” Clint and Bucky, and _ex-felon_ Scott Lang. On Mr. Stark’s insistence, Peter has been briefed on media-darling behavior, and both Mr. Stark and the Captain had each set aside time for one-on-one coaching in the past week. Their advice was pretty much completely contradictory, but there were threads of similarities that Peter could follow. Watch what you say, the truth is easier in the end, keep it short, and try to pass the ball to the Captain or Tony, who have had much more experience with the press.

 ****The next question goes to the Captain, in German, something about his feelings regarding the end of the Second World War, and whether he truly felt he could work to protect the German people today. Peter is distracted because Clint is getting into a sign language discussion with the sign interpreter, arguing semantics with him, and while Peter isn’t an expert, he’s got enough three-semesters-of-sign-language rudimentaries to realize when Clint calls the guy a tool. Natasha interrupts them while the Captain is talking, telling Clint to stand down or she will stand him down herself, and Peter leans forward to tell Clint Natasha’s not his boss. Clint’s eyes glint, and Natasha signs, “Boys, try me,” and Peter and Clint fist bump behind the Captain’s head and turn in unison to glare daggers at the interpreter. Mr. Stark hold up a hand to them as the Captain finishes while ignoring them entirely to give the question the full weight of his regard. The next question is clearly paused, waiting for Mr. Stark.

 ****Mr. Stark turns to Peter, and the whole world, this is a _live televised press conference_ _at the United Nations_ , is listening as he says, “Care to share with the class?” Peter feels the blush slide up his face and it makes him set his chin against it, and he looks over at Clint and Clint shrugs and Natasha shakes her head and Peter says, “Just- just arguing about a translation,” and he signs the same thing, except instead of “translation,” he signs “stupid sloppy mistake.” Clint chokes and Natasha rolls her eyes and the interpreter’s eyes bug out. Mr. Stark watches him for a second, the whole world watches Mr. Stark watch him, and he regrets some decisions he’s recently made, sure, but that guy is a _tool_. He glances up at Mr. Stark, and sets his chin. If he wants to make a deal about this, Peter will, that guy is a _tool_.  
  
Mr. Stark says, carefully, “And now we’re ready to move on? And pay attention? ‘Cause Cap just gave a really good answer, very historical, and I think I’m putting it on your lab quiz tomorrow.”  
  
“Aww, Mr. Stark,” says Peter, mind racing for ways he can use this moment to, as Mr. Stark said, leverage his brand away from the ‘dangerous criminal/psychopath’ that the Daily Bugle likes to bluster about. “I was just backing Hawkeye up.”  
  
“Yeah, thanks, kid,” chimes in Clint, “Can always use your kinda back-up!”  
  
Mr. Stark looks at Peter over his glasses, for all the world like a disapproving professor and says, “Admirable, but now you’ve got homework tonight. Try not to earn yourself any more, huh?”  
  
Peter is amazed at how Mr. Stark is- that soundbite is going to travel the world, and in two sentences, he’s given everyone watching a clear image of Peter as a school kid in trouble with an authority figure, something they can relate to, something they see on sitcoms literally all the time. Peter plays along, huffing and sitting back, and then turning to Steve and saying, “Sorry, sir,” clearly, in his most contrite tone.  
  
Steve looks back at him, struggling with a smile, and says, “Apology accepted, son. Although I’m not sure it’s necessary- we do want everyone to be able to understand us clearly, and backing up a teammate is how we learn to work together.” Peter figures sticking his tongue out at Mr. Stark would fall on the “actually immature” side of the line, so he just nods.  
  
Mr. Stark waves for the next question, which is fielded to T’Challa, about Wakandan technology, and he throws it to Mr. Stark and Peter, claiming that their team is set to bust through the upper advances of clean energy light years ahead of Wakanda. “We have much to learn in this exchange of knowledge between our brightest minds. It pleases me greatly to know that my top research scientist has Peter Parker and Tony Stark on her speed dial. I expect great things from them in the future,” T’Challa boasts, neatly passing the ball to Tony, who throws razzle dazzle and deftly helps T’Challa redirect away from Wakandan tech.  
  
This has a follow up with Mr. Stark, to confirm that Peter is working as an intern with Stark Industries. “Unpaid, but as SI funds the room and board for the Avengers, it’s not uncompensated,” supplies Mr. Stark. “We’re negotiating on whether it’s also a smart idea to go to college. Given how much trouble I got into, I think he’s safer skipping all that and chaining himself to the lab bench but, genius kids, ever try to convince them you know better?”  
  
Peter reminds himself that he is a wanted fugitive and every time someone emphasizes his kid status, they are doing him a favor. Mr. Stark is doing him a favor. Clint signs, a quick flick of fingers, “College parties, dude,” and Peter signs back, “Right?” and Natasha signs, “Seriously, you are supposed to be a role model” to Clint. Mr. Stark glares at all three of them and signs, “Stop. Please stop.”

 ****Clint rolls his eyes until the Captain says quietly, “I think we can all agree it’s fun to hold a secret conversation in a language that others can’t understand, but the goal of the United Nations, as I understand it, is to break down barriers and make sure we can all see eye to eye and come together to protect the people who need protection. We’re here today to announce that we’d like to be a part of that protection for the whole world, and while I know you’re showing off and having fun, I also know you’re serious about that mission. I’m going to ask that if you have more to add in sign, Natasha, Peter, Hawkeye, you act as our speakers, too, and share it so everyone can participate, not just the lucky few with access to that language.” Clint and Peter share a shamefaced look for a second, and then they both say, like it’s been scripted, “Yes, Captain.” Natasha nods, a smile on her lips.

 ****Mr. Stark signals for the next question, which is fielded to Vision, regarding a recent incident with a London-based crime syndicate.

 ****The conference continues for another hour and a half, the press clearly has no idea how to address more questions to a teenage Spider-Man, and wraps up right on schedule.

 ****They file off of the stage and Aunt May is standing there, arms crossed, and she immediately scolds, “Peter Parker!” Some flashbulbs go off, as she grabs him by the arm and pulls him backstage where reporters aren’t allowed and says, “How _could_ you, in the first five minutes?”

 ****Mr. Stark and the Captain both hustle over to stand at Peter’s shoulders and Mr. Stark says, “Sorry, May, we couldn’t warn you, we didn’t know how it would play out, but Spider-Man’s image had to be addressed and after that five minute performance makes it around the world, no one is going to think ‘hardened criminal justice vigilante.’ Peter was just going with the material we gave him to work with.”

 ****“They might think ‘stupid spoiled kid,’” interrupts Clint, “but probably smart spoiled kid, because I seriously- how much ASL can you understand?- and T’Challa and Tony were laying the genius prodigy on thick.” He and Peter bump knuckles and he flits away.

 ****“Ma’am,” says the Captain, “I may not be thrilled with all the fallout that may hit, but he just dodged several very real issues with revealing himself, handily. There’s no such thing as a perfect press conference in this business, just one you survive without looking like a supervillain.”

 ****Aunt May looks so daunted, Peter says, “Sorry, Aunt May. I can do better next time.”

 ****“It’s a different ballgame now,” Mr. Stark tells her, not unkindly. The Captain nods. “We were able to control the Spiderman image right from those first five minutes and it’s a base we can build on, a solid and more honest base than many get. He did good work.”

 ****“Well, as long as you do better next time,” says Aunt May faintly, and then some instinct inside her gives one more bark. “Seriously, I was not proud to hear someone I had raised was calling names on live, international tv, young man, and I don’t really care how it helped your image, we don’t treat people that way, Peter Parker.”

 ****“I said his interpretation work was sloppy, which it was, not that _he_ was sloppy,” protests Peter. 

****“Oh,” says Aunt May. “Well, Mr. Stark shouldn’t have to tell you to stop, you should stop before you get there.” And she nods, apparently feeling like this is a good enough telling off.

Mr. Stark is smiling hugely and says, “Thank you, May. I agree. Peter, read my mind better in the future and for right now, follow the usher who is trying to get us to safely exit this crumbling wreckage disguised as a historical building.” May, true to her threat, grabs Peter and places him directly on her left side. He sighs, but, well, she _had_ warned him.

~~~

Mr. Stark asks him, in the car ride back to the hotel, if there was one thing he wanted to do to celebrate this coming of age victory. Peter is missing his high school graduation for this ceremony, he suddenly realizes with a sense of disengagement. High school belongs before Titan, before everything that has happened since Titan. Aunt May must be thinking along the same lines because she says in a barely shaky voice, “Well, I suppose not many people on the Avengers have a high school cap and gown in a closet somewhere, do they Peter?”  
  
Mr. Stark tells him to think about it, he’ll check back later, as they pull into the underground garage and he flicks his cuff links, straightens his suit, and Peter can watch his game face slide on. He briefly misses Mr. Stark from the lab, covered in grease and blood and oil and probably spilled coffee and smoothie, too, his t-shirts with their oldies bands and his jeans always threadbare and broken in, but the feeling passes as Aunt May’s door opens and she slides smoothly out, thanking the agent in her quiet way. Peter thinks about how all of the Avengers are here, right now, for this signing, for the rule change and the signing. He thinks about MJ and Ned and what he told them about being an Avenger and he thinks about Uncle Ben saying, “Begin the way you mean to go on,” and he calls to Mr. Stark quietly, “Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark, I think I know what I want.”   
  
Mr. Stark hangs back from the others and turns to face Peter and Peter glances up at his face, wondering if he’ll understand or if he’ll brush it off. Wondering if this is something he can even ask for, is this too weird? This is too weird. But Mr. Stark just waits, patient, expectant, his brown eyes open and calm. Peter takes a deep breath and says, “Everyone’s here, and tomorrow by like noon everyone will be, you know, on missions and patrols and stuff. But everyone’s here, now, and we’re all tired, and anyway there’s this evening thing that’s gonna mess that up, so. So. I want Team Breakfast. I want, like, everyone, one meal, just this once, just one meal with everyone there. Can we do that?”   
  
Tony shakes his head, a smile on his lips, and before Peter can retract his request he reaches out to scrub a hand through Peter’s hair that turns into a headlock. “Yup. We can do that. Let me handle it, okay, sport?” 

Peter pushes him off, careful with his super strength not to actually like, damage Mr. Stark, and Aunt May is saying, scandalized, “Peter Parker, you get your butt over here,” so he scoots down the hallway after her, but he can still hear Mr. Stark mutter under his breath, “How is he even _real_ ,” and he blushes because okay, yes, he’s a giant dork, he gets it, thanks, Mr. Stark, _geez_.


	4. Chapter 4

The early evening news cycle calls him “Mr. Stark’s errant protege” and Peter feel victorious- yay, complete image shift!-and also like throwing up. There’s various photos attached to the headlines, but the most common one is of Mr. Stark looking over his glasses at a shamefaced Peter with his jaw clenched, Captain America watching the both of them with a slight smile on his lips. Peter feels a flutter deep in his stomach when he looks at the photo but he doesn’t know why. He saves it to his phone to try to figure out later. 

The deaf community is thrilled, because seriously that interpreter was way off and totally being a tool, there’s like a hundred remixes of the original translation and Clint’s arguments against it, and he had  _ started _ politely. T-shirts with, “The Lucky One” logos and Steve Rogers signing, “this” are already the top selling Avengers merch. TeenBop declares ASL the language every Gen Z should learn tonight and the video of Peter signing, “Right?” in response to Clint’s question goes viral on college campuses worldwide. It’s a Saturday night, and there are shots around the world being named after him, and the collective hangover will be epic, he suspects. 

His high school grades are everywhere, as is the IQ test he took in like  _ fifth grade _ . People are arguing whether or not it’s morally ok to find him  _ sexy _ on Twitter. “Spidey gifs too hot to be legal” is a subreddit, and someone has leaked that embarrassing photo of him at two, sitting on the toilet with his furby in his lap. It’s like a nightmare.

“You’re googling yourself,” says Mr. Stark, and he honestly hadn’t heard the man enter his suite. “I said not to do that.”

“Just, just wanted to see if it worked,” says Peter, tapping out a quick text to Ned and MJ threatening death for the furby photo, it had to be one of them, before dropping the phone on the charger and turning to face Mr. Stark.

“It did,” says Mr. Stark with a smile. He’s already dressed for the reception, and Peter feels something like shock slide through him, electric and energizing. He suddenly has so many places he needs to be, things he needs to be doing, and he can feel that energy buzz just below his skin, looking at Mr. Stark in his tailored suit. Mr. Stark’s smile widens a touch and then he’s pulling a garment bag from behind him and saying, “I’m delivery boy tonight. You’re wearing this.”

Peter sighs, and holds out his hands, and Mr. Stark says, “Your aunt was kidnapped by Pepper and Natasha an hour ago to get ready. Be ready in fifteen, Pep and I will escort you down so you don’t wander off.”

Peter nods, she’d texted him to warn him about it and said she’d send someone with his suit just before so he wouldn’t wreck it. He lays the bag on the bed and unzips it, and then stares in horror. Mr. Stark is almost out the door when he calls, “Mr.- Mr. Stark?!”

Mr. Stark turns around, eyebrows up, “Yes, Peter?”

“This isn’t my tie, it’s a bow tie,” says Peter, in a tone he usually reserves for saying, “it’s an unexploded bomb.”

Mr. Stark points to his own and says, “Full formal, black tie, Parker. United Nations reception.”

“Yeah, but I can tie a regular tie, Mr. Stark, I can’t, this is a bow tie.”

Mr. Stark clearly has about twelve things he wants to say to that, Peter can see it in his eyes, but there’s fifteen minutes before they have to be downstairs, and so he says, “O...k. I’ll tie it for you, scout, but we are educating you when we get to the Compound, there's going to be cultural literacy training like yesterday, how can you not- it’s not harder than a half-Windsor.”

“A what?” asks Peter, thinking of the Queen of England.

“The knot you had in your tie today,” replies Mr. Stark, confused.

Peter pauses and then says, “Knots have names?”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” hisses Mr. Stark. “We do not have time, go get dressed-“ he nods at the suit-“and I’ll tie your tie, let’s go, move.”

Peter grabs the bag and heads for the bathroom. He strips, leaving the other suit all over the place in bits and pieces, and then slides on the dark black formal suit. The shirt is complicated, it’s stiff, but excellently fitted to his exact measurements and  _ that’s _ not creepy. “Uh, what, what is this piece for?” He calls to Mr. Stark.

He can hear the sigh, but Mr. Stark wanders over and says, “You are a hot mess. Where did you learn how to put on a suit?”

“Nowhere?” hazards Peter, “like, literally, no one, who teaches how to put on a suit- how do these sleeves close, aren’t there supposed to be buttons?”

“FRIDAY, alert Ms. Potts that I will need her to grab my spare cuff links in her handbag, please.”

“On it, boss.”

Mr. Stark flashes his wrists at Peter, showing off the small jewels embedded there, and says, “Hot. Mess,” again. He twitches all the pieces of the outfit into place, and slides the stomach band around Peter’s waist muttering, “It’s called a cummerbund. It, it helps hide all the awkward that happens when you actually tuck in your shirt, which you have to do with these starchfront monkey shirts.” He does Peter’s bow tie, tussles his hair, and then indicates it’s time to go. At the end of their wing, Pepper and Aunt May stand on separate sides of the corridor in literal ball gowns, and Pepper holds out her hand to Tony, a little exasperated expression showing as she says, “What did you do to the first pair?”

“Not for me,” Tony tells her, and then he’s attaching the first one to Peter’s sleeve.

“Oh,” laughs Pepper. “Your naughty protege!”

"Not naughty,” corrects May, “Errant.”

“I watched that press conference, naughty,” argues Pepper, and Peter is going to burst into flames. He glares at the carpet. Mr. Stark does some final twitches to his suit and declares, “Fine. Aunt May? Hair?”

“Oh, I’d need an hour to tame it,” she says in dismay.

“Leave it,” laughs Pepper, “it looks fine, very charming, like he was just out chasing bad guys and swung on by for the reception.” Peter tries not to glare at anyone or touch his hair.

Mr. Stark twitches it in a few spots and declares, “I like it, we’re going now.”

Peter takes Aunt May’s arm and tucks it into his elbow as Pepper slides hers into Tony’s, elegant and confident. “You look very good,” she reassures him fondly. “All grown up, where is that little boy who helped me do dishes?”

He smiles at her, and they walk down the staircase smoothly, no tripping, into a glittering hall where there are way too many powerful people showing off way too much wealth.

Mr. Stark looks back as Peter hesitates and say, “You following? Can’t promise no one is gonna take a shot at you, crowd looks rowdy.” Pepper snorts.

“Infinity and beyond, sir,” says Peter solidly.

“Excellent apprentice,” confirms Tony. “Pep, can you spot the bar?” She snorts again, and then they descend.


	5. Chapter 5

The reception is mostly boring, people being introduced over and over again, Peter introducing Aunt May a thousand times, everyone saying how nice everyone else looks. Peter tries to do damage control by speaking politely and intelligently, and he’s exhausted after the first half-hour of trying to impress people.

At one point Clint grabs him and sneaks him down to the kitchens where they laugh with the staff and eat so much food, until the Captain finds them and shows them back up. A space has been cleared in the center of the ballroom, and there’s both an orchestra and also dancing. “Hot damn,” announces Clint, and signs to Natasha, across the room, “May I have the lady’s hand?” and she nods and makes her way across the room. Her dress mimics a tuxedo, sleek and black and white while also maintaining full functionality and making her look gorgeous. When she reaches them, she says to Peter, “You look very good. Do you dance?”

Peter says, “Uh, not like this,” and he twitches a hand at the dancers. 

“After this spin with Clint, I’ll teach you,” she tells him, and then adds, “You don’t really have to talk when you’re dancing, everyone’s fine with you paying attention to not trampling on them.” And Peter is on-board with that idea. Clint and Natasha spin out, looking elegant and graceful and Peter notes that Clint definitely is talking, because Natasha laughs several times. They slip from the dance floor after several minutes and thread their way back to the corner where he’s, well, he’s lurking, fine, he’ll admit it. Aunt May is serenely spinning with Mr. Stark and Pepper is laughing with an older gentleman who Peter thinks is the French ambassador.

While Clint pushes a tall table aside to give them more room, Natasha explains about the box created by their arms, and demonstrates the basic steps. Peter is excellent with agility-based tasks and catches on quickly, nodding. She shows him the waltz and the fox-trot and says, “That’s pretty much all that’s going to be going on tonight, complete snoozefest,” and Clint interjects, “See? I told you it was a great word!”  
  
“Now that I know you can pick this up fast,” Natasha warns him, smiling broadly, “You are going to learn a lot of dances for me. I love dancing, and it’s excellent agility and conditioning practice.” Clint rolls his eyes but nods. “Let’s go find Aunt May, you’re ready.”   
  
They find her sipping champagne with three Ambassador’s wives and two Ambassadors, all of them exclaiming over how hard it is to be a modern woman and raise a son as good as Peter is. It’s the perfect, like, the perfect entrance, and Peter slips in and touches her on the elbow and says, “May I have a dance, Aunt May?”   
  
She smiles at him, delighted, clearly enjoying showing off all the hard work she’s put into him, and replies, “When did you learn how to dance, Peter?” The women actually twitter at each other, one of them cooing in Japanese, “What a good son,” it’s ridiculous and funny and Aunt May’s eyes show that she’s getting a thrill out of it, too.   
  
“Had Natasha teach me,” he tells her, and pulls her gently out to the floor. He puts her arm on his shoulder and she chuckles at him, and then they’re gliding into the waltz. He has to concentrate on his feet a little, to remember, to get it just right, but he remembers how Clint and Mr. Stark had looked, eyes on their partners, heads up, and _doesn’t look at his feet_. Aunt May covers for the couple of missteps, and smiles brightly at him. They don’t run into anybody, although there’s a couple of near misses that his spidersense gets them out of handily.

They dance for awhile, and then Mr. Stark and Natasha glide by and Mr. Stark says, “Switch!” and Aunt May laughs as he hands her off to Mr. Stark and Natasha glides serenely into his arms and says just as serenely, “You are doing so well, Piotr.” He smiles happily, because it feels like the last fifteen minutes have been the longest single amount of time all day that he’s been left alone, and he could absolutely dance for the rest of the night if need be. Natasha says, “Oh, Vision got Wanda out on the floor and now she’s trapped with the Swedish ambassador’s husband, Piotr, you should absolutely cut in, she’ll appreciate it.” Peter nods and steers them near, and then handily rescues Wanda with a move he saw the Mexican ambassador use earlier in the night, when he was watching Clint and Natasha. It works perfectly, and after a moment where they have to sort out limbs and rhythm, Wanda breathes a sigh of relief.   
  
“Steer me far away,” she whispers, her skin pale. “I have no idea how I- I should rest, I am so angry, Peter.”   
  
Peter nods, like they’re exchanging pleasantries, like the most dangerous woman in the world isn’t trembling with rage under his hands while he gently and slowly spins them closer and closer to the bar, where Vision and Tony are- are they doing shots? Are they- oh my God, they are doing _shots_ .   
  
“Are they?” she asks, and the anger in her face dissolves into mirth. “Peter, are they _doing shots_ at this reception? Is that my Vision and Mr. Stark?”   
  
“Well, I mean, he was Mr. Stark’s AI for years,” says Peter, trying to be reasonable but also grateful they’re only feet from the edge of the dance floor because it’s getting hard to concentrate on what his feet should be doing in time with the music. “I imagine some stuff is just kind of… programmed in.”

Wanda giggles at that, and Peter remembers that she’s just 20, just a couple of years old than he is. “He is far too young to be drinking with anyone,” she assures him. “Although if you count his years as JARVIS, maybe- maybe not.”  
  
“That’s gotta be weird,” he comments without thinking, steering her through tables and around dignitaries, smiling and nodding and murmuring the appropriate rejoinders.   
  
“Either way there is a ridiculous age difference,” she says in agreement. “We don’t care, and we cannot care about, well. Our lives are not… normal, Peter. We must take what we can get.”   
  
Peter smiles and says, “He is so into you. I think it’s great, even if you are robbing the cradle.”   
  
She is laughing as they reach the bar and Vision and Mr. Stark turn as one when they hear the sound.   
  
“Are you doing _shots_ , my love?” she inquires archly, pressing her hand to Vision’s cheek. “Whyever for?”   
  
“Mr. Stark and I have a very old bet, and I have lost it, and this was the agreed upon consequence,” says Vision, kissing her hand and then gripping it, pulling her to him. “I tried explaining that it won’t work, but I’m afraid he stated he would create a scene.”   
  
“Mm,” agrees Wanda, eyeing Mr. Stark. “Well, how many more do you have to do? I would like to retire for the evening.”   
  
“He’s good,” says Mr. Stark, a little too heartily. “Y’can take him. Bye, buddy, miss you, see you at the Compound next week, huh?”   
  
“Good night, Mr. Stark,” says Vision, his tone fond. “I’ll alert Ms. Potts to your condition on our way out. Mr. Parker,” he says, nodding, “if you would be so kind as to stay near and keep him from trouble?” Peter nods, although what Vision expects him to do is a little mysterious.

Mr. Stark leans on the bar and says, into a glass of amber liquid that Peter is reasonably certain is not the champagne he’s been carefully avoiding all night, “This shindig is busting up, thank God. Gonna grab Pep and hit the hot-tub, what a fucking dog and pony day.”  
  
Peter nods, and Mr. Stark says, “How the hell do you look so chipper? Been dragged all over the coals all day, and tonight, too, I saw the ambassadors try to eat you alive just before the dancing.”   
  
“Uh, Clint took me to the kitchens, I ate a ton of food,” Peter says. “There was coffee.”   
  
“Yeah, suggested that,” confesses Tony bitterly, taking another sip and still not looking at Peter. “You got that super-spider appetite, didn’t need you keeling over, what a goddamn international dramafest that would have been.”   
  
Peter has no idea what to say to this Mr. Stark, who is in the middle of something, clearly. Ms. Potts comes up, quickly, but not, like, running or anything, and she breathes, “God, thank you, Peter, I was caught up with the Malaysian contingent and they are almost ready to sign our contract, I had to- Tony,” and her tone is sharp, cutting, as she slips the glass from his hands, and sets it on the bar, “did you switch without me?”   
  
Mr. Stark smiles up at her charmingly and says, “I lost that old bet. The one with JARVIS, about, uh, red scarf, and-”   
  
“So, shots,” she finishes, and then slants a glance at Peter that he can’t decipher and says, “Well, Mr. Stark, I know the evening is far too young,” and there’s a strange emphasis on those words, “but it’s time to head to bed. With your girlfriend, who loves you dearly and is going to grab this bottle of tequila, yes, that one, please,” she tells the bartender, “the whole one, you can charge it to our room,” and she tucks it into the crook of her arm and laughs when the bartender slides her two shot glasses and says, “Sure, why not?” She turns to Peter and says, “Thank you for keeping him out of trouble,” and then slides her arm into Mr. Stark’s and hustles them away from the bar.   
  
The bartender laughs behind Peter and he turns to look at her. She smiles and says, in a heavy accent, “Lucky man. To be rich, eh?” Peter shrugs, he has no idea what’s going on with the man tonight, but he’s glad Tony is in capable hands.   
  
Aunt May comes up to him as he’s scanning the room to look for someone else to hang out with and says, “Most of the Avengers are heading out, Peter, probably a good time for us to leave, too. Natasha says it’s all competitive hangovers from here on out.”

Peter nods, glancing around. Most of the team has left and that means there’s way too many people he has to charm here. Definitely time to go. Besides, Mr. Stark has promised him breakfast.

~~~

When he gets back to his room, rips off the tie and wiggles out of the rest of the tux, he checks his phone for messages. MJ has sent him and Ned a link. SNL did a whole skit about Spider-Man’s pop quiz, it’s hilarious, Cap and Iron Man are grilling him about leaving his webs all over the place at one point, which did, in fact, happen in real life. They end the segment with the video of Steve Roger’s response to the German’s question. The scroll along the bottom says, “Just trying to assist, Peter Parker, New Yorkers gotta stick together, good luck tomorrow and let us cheat off your Physics paper next semester?!”

Ned has responded with,  _ Me 1st, P, mathletes b4 SNL! _   
  
He laughs, and decides to shower and hit the sack. It’s been a long day of jumping through hoops and he’s agile, but exhausted. And, well, Mr. Stark promised him breakfast.   



	6. Chapter 6

At 7 AM, Peter’s spider senses jolt him awake, adrenaline amping through him and so he is very disoriented when Clint drops down from the vent shouting, “Cowabunga!” and lands on the bed beside him. Clint grins up at him goofily and says, “You have got to see the spread Tony laid out, it is unreal. Get up, get up, get up get up get up,” and he starts to drag Peter out of the bed. “I will pour water on you, and spiders don’t survive water, I know your weakness already, arachnoboy,” Clint teases, and Peter does some acrobatic flipping but the guy’s been working with the Black Widow for years and somehow he always finds another grip on Peter.   
  
“Jesus, Clint,” complains Peter, from some sort of headlock hold, “I was  _ asleep.  _ In my  _ locked hotel room _ .”   
  
“And now you’re awake! And if you think that’s exciting, wait until you see the morning news cycle! Stark posted a video of Nat teaching you how to dance and it went viral faster than that photo of you on the potty. As of like, midnight, you’re America’s Sweetheart Superhero, official, I think Jimmy Fallon called it.”   
  
Peter ignores most of this, because he realizes Clint is sporting pajamas, too, as he guides Peter’s body into the hallway, and decides fuck it, he should always just wear whatever Clint is wearing.    
  
Clint lets go of Peter long enough to knock on some doors and pick the locks on other doors and shout, “Team Breakfast, up and at ‘em! Espresso available upon request!” with obscene delight, chortling when the people within throw things at him with various levels of accuracy. Peter follows him, attempting nonchalance but his heart is thumping because this, too, is perfect.

~~~

Mr. Stark has organized for a smaller ballroom to be set aside with a breakfast buffet and a set of tables turned into an open square, with chairs on both sides. It would be impossible to sit anywhere at that table and not get in each other’s way, but that is in no way bothering the Captain and Bucky and Natasha and Thor, who already have steaming cups of coffee and plates full of, well, breakfast.    
  
“Team Breakfast!” calls Clint, by way of greeting, “Peter is a growing boy, I hope you left enough, Buckster, Steve, it is unreal watching you two tear through a buffet.”   
  
“I also am capable of eating a small village out of bread and egg,” confesses Thor.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at Natasha and takes a sip of his coffee.

~~~

One by one everyone filters in and pretty soon the small room is full and noisy and active and everyone is patting Peter on the head or touching his shoulder to get his attention or shouting across the room, “Hey, new guy, what’s the square root of pi?” but really, that last one is pretty much just Clint. Peter recites it dutifully and Tony corrects him on the 9th digit and Banner hoots with laughter at the both of them. Clint declares them sciencebros  _ for life _ and Tony and Banner high five.   
  
Breakfast lasts most of the morning, actually, and everyone kind of lingers. Bucky and Steve are bickering about the bacon, comparing it to several versions of historical bacon that they’ve eaten in the past, when Thor says to them, “Friends, I would like to eat this bacon of your making” in all seriousness and Bucky looks at Steve and says, “Next time,” very firmly. Peter’s day literally could not get better. Team Breakfast is the best idea.    
  
Eventually, he and Mr. Stark end up at the coffee bar together and after expressing extreme doubt at Peter’s ability to froth appropriately, Mr. Stark takes over making them both a cup. While he froths very extravagantly, he tilts his head toward the tables and says, “Mission accomplished, yeah?”   
  
Peter nods happily and says, “Yessir, Mr. Stark, thank you, this was-this was so nice of you.”   
  
“Yeah, don’t mention it,” responds Mr. Stark, handing him a cup of coffee with a quick, indecipherable glance in Peter’s direction, and wandering off to go get in a fight with someone about something frivolous, no doubt. Mr. Stark sure likes to fight with his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't feel done yet. Might keep working on it a little, wrap it up.


	7. Artwork by SpiderBeans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was having trouble with a character in another fic wrestling me instead of playing nicely (when am I not struggling with that, lately), and SpiderBeans offered to draw me any one scene I wanted if I fed them the content by the end of the week.
> 
> Well, fans, I got that content done, and here is my prize.
> 
> Ain't it magnificent?!

  
Dear SpiderBeans,  
  
I keep staring at this in shock and awe. Thank you for making my whole week!  
  


-CJ

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to pop into the comments with encouragement! I won't handle criticism well, unless you and I have a baseline understanding, so I guess keep that to yourself or tell a friend, whichever one you want to do. Thanks for reading!


End file.
